


Arid

by KestrelShrike



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: AU, F/M, Post-War, noir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: Inspired by the lovely artwork of ranthadine.tumblr.com, I present a post-War, Mass Effect AU in which Shepard and Garrus become detectives, hunting down a killer through Omega's maze of tunnels. Always one step ahead, will they catch up?





	Arid

“We got another dead batarian here.“  
"Krios told me they were having issues at the Citadel, but here?” Garrus nudged the corpse with one clawed food, turning it slightly. Behind, on the wall, ‘waste of water’ was written in a dripping, lurid red.  
“Defeat the Reapers, open up a whole host of other problems.” With a sigh, Shepard touched Garrus’ shoulder, leaning against him for a moment. They had work to do.

***

This wasn’t how Shepard had planned to spend her retirement.

After the war, there had been the requisite ‘relearning to walk with a prosthetic 101’ physical therapy. The doctors had offered to regrow Shepard her own leg- nothing but the best for the war’s biggest hero. It would be like she had never lost the limb at all, they explained, except that it would be pale and need to put on muscle mass. Would it be able to interface with all of the Cerberus tech still in her body? Well, they weren’t quite sure. Miranda thought there might be rejection issues, but the other medical specialists were more optimistic.

They argued over her head until Shepard had yelled out, “Enough! We’re not messing with any more Cerberus shit. I can live with the fake leg.” Anything to give her back her movement, to be able to walk again.

Then they had left her alone with a shiny leg, telling her she was free to spend her retirement however she wanted to.

***  
Next was the tropical vacation that Shepard and Garrus had always felt they were owed. They chose a small planet, out of the way, with not much of a population to speak of. They could have had their own island, but Garrus needed to feel like people were around him. “It’ll be good for you,” he told Shepard, and she couldn’t actually disagree.

And for the first few months, it had been good. There had been an adjustment, periods of time where she woke up at five in the morning ready to go, only remembering when she stumbled that the war was over, that she couldn’t just spring into action anymore. Garrus never asked about the dreams and she never told, content to leave them where they were, so sure that they couldn’t touch her in real life. She was safe here.

But safety, as it turned out, was boring.

One could only lay out in the sand so many times. There were more seashells to collect, but staring out at the water made her think too much, the waves as recursive as her thoughts. Even paradise could get old, after a time. When the call from Aria came, it was a relief.

 

People called Shepard fairly often, though she kept her comms channel limited to her former crewmembers and friends. This, however, was the last person she expected to be sending a message, the pleasant buzzing of an incoming communication seeming to get louder and louder the longer she waited.

“Aria.” The asari’s hologram flickered to life, arms crossed as she was leaning forward on her customary couch, the scowl visible even through the series of light and lines that sketched her body.

“Shepard.” There were no pleasantries with Aria, no ‘how are yous’ or anything beyond her name, almost spat out, a statement in and of itself.

“If you wanted a postcard, you could have just sent a message,” Shepard shot back, the faintest hint of a smile tugging up the corner of her mouth. It was not a smile Aria returned.

Uncrossing her arms and then crossing them again, Aria didn’t even dignify Shepard with a response. “We’re having a problem on Omega. Dead batarians turning up in places they don’t belong. Public places. I don’t like disorder on my station, Shepard.” She took a deep breath then, as close to a sigh as she ever got. “I could use someone to investigate. Someone that people aren’t going to fuck with. My usual men are… lacking.” Translation, in Aria’s language: they weren’t getting shit done and she was down to a last resort. The asari could only exile so many people before she ran out of competent henchmen and cronies.

“Would you be interested in helping me out? For old times sake… And because I know you. You’re not meant for that retirement bullshit.”

Shepard should have said no. She shouldn’t have even entertained the offer. Garrus was leaning over her shoulder, shaking his head frantically. No, don’t do it. He pointed at the beach just outside their window, gestures getting more frantic.

There was a lot Shepard shouldn’t have done.

She said yes.


End file.
